


Uneasy Business

by officialchildermass



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: I could tag it with Jonathan/Arabella, Lady Pole - Freeform, Mr Norrell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:46:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officialchildermass/pseuds/officialchildermass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intercepting the Stranges' letters has left Childermass feeling uneasy, and after finding Mr Norrell's mind on the matter fixed, he attempts to communicate this to Arabella while trying not to betray his loyalty to Mr Norrell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uneasy Business

It had been almost three months.

Three months of worry, fear, and nights spent alone in a bed that seemed too big and empty. Three months, in which Arabella had heard nothing of Jonathan. Governed by rationality as she always was or at least aimed to be, she knew that there were several possible explanations for this silence from his side, but none of them were entirely satisfactory.

Every morning she scoured the newspapers for any scrap of information on progress of the war in the Peninsula, but did not find anything aside from victories ascribed to Wellington’s strategic genius.

Had she belonged to a lower class of people, she might have heard much more news, albeit unreliable and exaggerated – even if she would not have had received her own letters, the gossip between maids and footmen and hands (who all received letters from brothers or nephews in the army) was, as always, abundant. She might have heard of rivers and forests and mountains being moved by a man with a long nose and unruly hair known as ‘Merlin’.1

But Arabella was a lady, and despite her straightforwardness (which was not appreciated by some gentlemen) was considered a respectable one. It would not do for her to mingle with her social inferiors.

Nevertheless, one afternoon, when she received a letter from a gentleman’s servant in which said servant requested a private audience with her, she did not, as she according to etiquette ought to have done, turn down the offer, or simply ignore it entirely.

That was partly because of her lack of particular care of how she was perceived by someone who happened to arbitrarily find out about this completely unexpected meeting; partly because of her fairly limitless curiosity; and ultimately, for the most part because of the signature on the letter, which in neat and simple handwriting read ‘John Childermass’.

She had to admit, she did not know the man exceptionally well – in fact, their acquaintance was, to Arabella’s knowledge, limited solely to the times they had both spent in Mr Norrell’s library, remaining silent while listening to Mr Norrell lecturing Mr Strange while drinking tea or sitting brooding in a corner, respectively.

Indeed, little did she know that Childermass had been privy to her most intimate and private thoughts as well as her husband’s, by dint of intercepting all of their mutual correspondence. Thus, she did not think that whatever the man wanted from her, as he did not specify anything in his short note, could possibly harm her.

She wrote him a note back, which said that she would be at liberty to receive him the next day at four o’clock in the afternoon.

Arabella did not think much more of it and spent a pleasant afternoon with her dear Lady Pole, although she felt the worry for her friend taxing her increasingly upon spending time with her, as she was constantly reminded of the mental torment Emma found herself to suffer. When she returned to the dark entrance hall of the house on Soho Square that evening, she was ready to retire, and told Mary to prepare warm milk, as Arabella was wont to drink before going to bed, when she was cold.2 Mary curtsied and hurried off to the kitchen, while Arabella remained in the hallway to take off her travelling garments.

She untied the ribbon which held her hat in place, put it on the hall stand and was about to turn away when she thought she saw something move in the mirror, and froze.

She turned her head slowly, keeping her eyes on the mirror for as long as possible, then whirled the rest of the way around and laid eyes upon the figure of Childermass, slouched against the side of the stairwell, his arms crossed. She had previously not seen him because he wore a long, dark coat and a similarly dark hat, and he stood in the shadows of the hallway. Why Mary had not informed her about his presence, however, she could not fathom as easily.

“Good evening, Mrs Strange,” he said, with a barely perceptible incline of the head. The rim of his hat cast a dark shadow over his eyes as he did so. “I do hope I did not give you too much of a fright.”

It took her a moment to collect herself, but then Arabella answered him he had not, the dryness of the roof of her mouth proclaiming it a lie.

She turned back towards the hall stand and placed her hastily folded scarf on it, and with her back to the man she asked, “have you received my note?”

“Aye, I’ve read it,” was his reply.

She turned back to him with her hands folded in front of her, as true a semblance of propriety as there ever was one. Then she raised one elegantly arched eyebrow and said, “to my knowledge the time is not three o’clock tomorrow.”

This remark earned her an amused squint of the eyes from Mr Norrell’s servant. He regarded her with a slightly increased degree of respect and pushed away from the stairs, raising himself up to his full length and uncrossing his arms. He mirrored her position and clasped his hands together before him.

“Quite true, madam, but the business that brings me here felt to me better to be conducted without broad daylight to shine upon it.” Childermass’s expression grew grave.

She thoughtfully pursed her lips. Words such as those perhaps ought to have prompted Arabella to ask Childermass to leave, as they promised trouble, but she was curious, and upon looking in his eyes found nothing that did not seem genuine to her.

“Would you protest against being seated in a place with more candlelight, Childermass? Let us repair to the drawing room.”

“My message is short, madam.”

“Let’s have it, then,” Arabella said, not unfriendly, and she tilted her head inquiringly.

“While my station and my obligations to my master forbid me to speak freely, I have come here to admit to you a matter which has left me feeling uneasy, with a bitter taste in my mouth.” Childermass paused here, slightly affected, before he continued, “I do this without Mr Norrell’s knowledge and therefore bid to ask of you that you keep this conversation between ourselves.”

“I,” started Arabella, who was decidedly unhappy with the prospect of having to promise more silence – after all, those promises had left her in quite an impossible situation with regard to both Lady Pole and Sir Walter Pole. “I fear I can promise no such thing until I have heard what you have to say.”

“Altogether reasonable,” said Childermass. He took a moment to order his thoughts and when he spoke it was in a once again composed manner.

“I wish you to know that Mr Strange has not forgotten you. In fact, rather the opposite is true, and you need not worry about him, as he appears to be in good health.”

Arabella laughed incredulously, and as the man did not divulge any more information, set to questioning him. “What do you mean?”

Once more, Childermass looked rather pained and torn, but then he let out an audible huff of air, and his mind seemed set. “I mean to say that Mr Strange _has_ sent you letters, which have safely arrived on English soil. As I said, due to my position I am not at liberty to reveal what has happened to them, although you should not find it hard to remember who my master is and what he is capable of.”

His last remark could have sounded like a threat, but to the contrary, were spoken with an air of amusement. Childermass appeared to know that Arabella was not a dimwitted lady and also that she would not be satisfied with so meagre an answer.

She narrowed her eyes. “ _Safely_ arrived on English soil? And why have they not _safely_ been transported to London?”

A quirk of the mouth. “They have. They have only refrained from being safe _within_ the city of London.”

Arabella sighed. “I do not suppose you will tell me what happened with them, or, God forbid, give me what is rightfully mine?”

Her words seemed to touch a sensitive chord in Childermass, and he clenched his jaw for a moment before softly saying, “unfortunately I am—”

“Not at liberty to do so, I know, I know,” Arabella ground out.

She breathed out heavily and then realised, “Mr Norrell must be quite displeased with what you are doing right now, if my suspicions as to what his part in all this are correct.”

A nod from Childermass confirmed – which precisely, either the displeasure or the suspicions, she did not know.

She gave him a firm nod in return. “I thank you for telling me this, and I will give my word not to broach this subject with your master… Unless you think he will relinquish them when I confront him with his actions?”

But Childermass was already shaking his head. “Confronting him will not do you any good, madam. Mr Norrell will always find a way to make his own actions seem… respectable.” He smiled an ironic smile which reminded Arabella of her husband, and she did not doubt a word he said.

She inclined her head again, and bade him good night.

As Childermass made his way back to Hanover Square in the dark, he doubted Mrs Strange would have been as grateful to him had she known of his own significant part in purloining the letters. Still, his conscience was somewhat reconciled, and as that had been his goal for the evening, he was content.

As for Arabella? She went to bed with a mind heavy with indignation towards Mr Norrell, but with a heart free of worry about Jonathan – and for the moment, that was enough.

 

 

1Among other things, Arabella might also have heard that he rode a majestic, magical horse which was an exact copy of Wellington’s own Copenhagen, or that he wore a sparkly garment embroidered with moons and stars.

2It was the end of April and as anyone living in northwestern Europe knows, April is a quite unpredictable month, weather-wise.

**Author's Note:**

> Another one-shot, because I love Arabella and Childermass interacting and I liked the idea of Childermass's conscience torturing him enough for him to kind of go against Norrell.  
> As always, thank you so much for reading! x


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